Silence
by Hikari Nanase
Summary: A short. A plot without a plot, but a story, with no real story. A fragment in time- small, itsy bitsy. I'll shut up now. Please read. Thanks.


"Silence"

12/15/02

By: Hikari Nanase

E-mail to: hikari1612@netzero.met

**Notes:** I want to dedicate this fic to Jasmine. She's the best kind of friend, although we aren't close and rarely talk. She is passionate, strong-willed (and violent), funny, and selfless. Her presence always makes me happy and relaxed; she has, after all, saved me from my breakdown last year and I forever owe her for her kindness and flowers. 

~*~*~*~

                The window was left unlatched to let in the cool autumn air. A few leaves of gold, ruby, and bronze drifted into the room, and they crackled as they landed as lightly as feathers on the carpeted floor. At the desk, he sat. Hunched over his papers, the spools of scarlet red hair cascaded over his shoulders and about his neck. There was just enough sun peaking through the satin curtains to allow him to read and write, and as the wind tickled the chimes at his window, a warm presence stepped into his bedroom.

                He followed that presence with his thoughts- with his senses. He knew exactly when that presence would seat himself on the corner of his bed and watch him do his homework. He knew when that presence would hover over back, touch some of his long hair, and then retreat elsewhere. He knew what that presence was watching- what he was observing, listening, and thinking.

                These were all so good things to know.

                Indeed, that presence perched himself on the edge of his table- crossing one leg over the other and crossing both arms over a modest chest. He would look down frostily from his seating, eying every stroke of his friend's pencil and delicate hand. The other, would look up for a moment, offer a small welcoming smile, and then return to the task that lay before him. The one watching him would close his eyes and take-in the wonderful familiarities of the room. At one corner was his friend's laundry basket- empty, as usual, since the redhead was a martinet for cleanliness. By that laundry basket, was the sliding door to the wardrobe- filled with what he knew to be his friend's nicely pressed shirts and well-folded pants. In another corner was the bookshelf- stuffed with all sorts of stories and facts. Each shelf was always carefully dusted and polished- and the wood of the shelves wafted a magnificent scent of red cedar about the room. Naturally, there were potted plants here and there, adding color to the perfectly white walls and carpet. 

                He opened his eyes again, and inspected his friend's progress. Red irises glided casually from the bottom of the paper to the top- paying particular attention to the script of his partner's name:

                _Minnamino Shuiichi._

                Such a name didn't appear to suit his friend's demeanor.  It wasn't beautiful enough. It wasn't dangerous enough. It wasn't powerful enough. Yet he knew, Shuiichi was his name- every string to it attached to the redhead's human heart. 

                Now, he had made an err in his calculations and was presently searching for his eraser. As he moved, he inadvertently knocked it off the desk, and the gummy thing rolled onto the floor. He was about to stand, when his friend blurred from his perch to pick it up for him. As the eraser was gently deposited into his hand, he smiled in gratitude and set the object on the table. He had been working for a couple of hours already, and a short break was only too compelling. 

                So, he rose from his chair and momentarily went downstairs as the other waited at his study. Returning shortly, he had in his hands two cups of steaming cocoa- covered with whipped crème and drizzled with honey and cinnamon. Kindly, he gave a cup to his guest, who promptly took it from his hand. Together, they blew at the piping smoke before quietly sipping at the luxurious drink. The redhead then slowly reclaimed his seat on the swivel chair, twirling slightly around to observe the breathtaking rain of colors before his window. 

                The other went up to that window and sat against the pane. As he sat upon it, he raised one leg up and left the other nonchalantly hanging along the wall's edge. Looking out, he kept one palm cupped beneath his mug and the other gripped onto the handle. The breeze of fall took with it not only the leaves, but also the searing steam of his drink. To the wind, he gave a humble grin before tilting the mug into his little mouth. 

                From the desk, the redhead sighed as he leaned against his backrest. His evergreen eyes sparkled at the tranquility that lay before the both of them. Reading his thoughts, the one at the window turned gradually away from the open pane, stood, and shut it.

                Nodding, the other agreed and returned to his papers. Meanwhile, he felt his friend's being stride-up from behind him, put one hand on his shoulder, and let its palm slide against the length of his arm. Then he disappeared, and the redhead knew that he was laying on his bed- staring at the ceiling with vacant, but acute eyes.

                On the bed, he had both arms strapped behind his neck. He watched how the sun's rays were altering from white to orange, and from orange to pink. All the while, he also paid attention to his friend's light breathing, to the scratching of his pencil, and to the scent of cocoa that stuck in their now empty cups. 

                As the rays grew weaker and weaker, he sought to it to turn on the lamp that hung over his friend's table. His thoughtful consideration was rewarded with yet another affectionate smile, and that was the last thing he saw before he lost his consciousness to the abyss of comforting sleep.

                Every now and then, he would check on that small peaceful face that was submerged in his fluffy pillows. It was such a pleasant thing to have- that extra company on his bedding. The little one kept the blankets and sheets warm- leaving the scent of cinnamon and spice from his wild hair on every article of cotton there. 

                At last, he put down his pencil and let the rest be done for the day that would follow. Standing, he stretched like a cat and yawned- gazing at his friend affectionately from the corner of his twinkling eye. 

                He appreciated the lack of manners on the smaller's part. Imposing upon him the sharing of everything. Imposing upon him the acceptance of his companionship. Imposing upon him his faithfulness, his secrets, and his trust.

                The redhead removed his slippers and disrobed into his nightwear. As quietly as he could muster, he slipped into the bed where he was instinctively accepted with open- albeit sleeping- arms.

                Warm, small, but protective arms that embraced without sight, but with innocent dreams of him.

                Tender and loving is the thing called true friendship. Need not words, but another's shadow to be in the warmth of joy. __


End file.
